Shattered
by thistlemeg
Summary: Stream-of-consciousness piece about Remus Lupin's reaction to the Potters' & Peter's murders.


_Author's Note: I tried to write more of _Beyond Halloween '81_, but I'm still stuck there. This came out instead. It's a stream-of-consciousness piece, so don't complain about the grammar. Short and sad. Enjoy!_   
  
  
  
_No._   
  
My mind refuses to wrap itself around what Albus Dumbledore is telling me. His grave expression takes me back to when Sirius...   
  
When Sirius betrayed...   
  
But he wouldn't. Not James. Not the Potters. Not to the Dark Lord.   
  
Still, Dumbledore's eyes haven't been like this since Sirius...   
  
Since Sirius tried to kill...   
  
But he wouldn't. Not Peter. Not like that.   
  
No. Sirius Black is many things, but he is not a traitor and a murderer. He may have pulled some stupid things at school, but he would never hand over James. A wolf is one thing, but a person, a real person, a best friend...   
  
"Remus?"   
  
I want to say a million things, but all I can manage is, "No." No, this isn't right. No, no, no, no. Dumbledore is still talking, but the blood is pounding in my ears and I can't hear a thing, and now it's clouding my vision, and this can't be right, he's lying, he's wrong, and when I open my eyes he won't even be here and everything will be right.   
  
But he's still there, and he's still looking sad and grave and serious, and why won't he stop looking like that, goddammit? I'm tired of being looked at like that, why won't he shut up?   
  
There's a crash and the table is lying on its side, and the tea things are shattered on the ground, but they're just tea things, not like lives, lives aren't that fragile, he must be lying. Somewhere, I know that I'm the one that pushed the table over, but I don't care about the bloody table, I just want him out.   
  
"Remus..."   
  
"Just get out," I hiss. "Get out of here, _now_."   
  
I need to owl James, need to tell him that Dumbledore's gone off his rocker at last. I think I'll go to Godric's Hollow right now and tell him in person. The whole thing is ludicrous, and James and Lily and Harry will all be there, and Sirius and Peter, we'll all be together, and I'll laugh that I even got worked up over a little scare from a madman...   
  
So worked up, in fact, that I've Misapparated. Merlin knows where I am, but there's Ministry officials guarding what used to be a house, and a small crowd of journalists and curious neighbors. Another Dark attack, most likely. I'll ask James and Sirius about it when I get to the Potters.   
  
"Remus!" Natalie Brocklehurst runs up to me, her eye makeup smeared with tears. She must have known the poor bastards that lived here. "I'm so sorry, Remus, I just can't believe it."   
  
What is she talking about? I'm fine, I'm the one who should be apologizing, I'm fine, everything's fine, I'm sorry she's lost someone. I'd better say something, she'll think I'm an unsympathetic prick, I want to say that I'm sorry for her loss, but damn it all, the only thing I can say is, "No."   
  
She's blubbering into my shirt, but I can hardly feel it. I don't know why, but I can't stop staring at the pile of rubble that was once a house.   
  
A sudden flash enables me to tear my eyes away from the wreckage. Then Natalie has stumbled back and the camera is lying smashed on the ground. The photographer is threatening me, but I don't hear him. I can't see anything but the pieces of the lens, lying shattered on the pavement. So easily broken. So quickly. It will never be a camera lens again. It's all broken. A thousand tiny pieces, and they'll cut you if you step on them. Better sweep them up and throw them away and forget about them, throw them away, they're not important...   
  
"Get out of the way, man!" I'm jostled roughly aside and the photographer mutters, "_Reparo_," at the lens. Good as new.   
  
"It's not that easy!" I shout at the bewildered man. "You can't just mend it like that! Goddamnit, what's wrong with you people? You can't just fucking put it back together!"   
  
As suddenly as it came upon, the rage is gone. Background sounds - Natalie's choked sobs, the journalists' mutterings, the sounds of the village - come flowing back. My entire body sags. The air is repressive, I can hardly breathe. I need to get out. Out. Away.   
  
Because, here, Sirius Black is Dark and James and Lily Potter and Peter Pettigrew are dead. Here, lives lie shattered on the ground, and they won't mend like glass or china. Somewhere, though, there has to be a _Reparo_ charm for people.   
  
There just has to be.   
  


__

Finite Incantatem 


End file.
